#markmeachum

amber makes a face as if to say of course that's what it says as she takes a quick sip of her drink. the cookie is popped out of it's small plastic pocket before she carefully cracks it in two and plucks out the small paper within. "let things unfold. relinquish control."

she scoffs, tosses the small paper into the empty container nearest her and stands. "you can go. i'll clean up here." the smell of her after hours chinese dinner would be gone by morning. what would still be there would be the files she hadn't quite managed to get through. lesson learned, don't try to get work done after hours with mark. (a part of her had known the moment he stole one of her egg rolls that she wouldn't be getting much work done. and yet she'd allowed him to stay.) empty containers and used napkins are piled into the trash can by her desk.

the past seventy-two hours were a blur. partially due to the sedatives she'd been given for surgery, partially due to the benzos they'd given her for the panic attack she'd had a handful of hours after. various people had moved in and out of her room. at one point, as she gave her statement for the third time, julio's voice drifted from down the hall before the door to her room had been fully closed. the panicked edge to his voice was one she hadn't been witness to before, but then again, this was whole new territory for him. (for her too but she doesn't want to think about it. can't think about it.)

evan, bell, and finau had trickled in later while she'd been getting her vitals checked. her i'm fine didn't seem like it was enough to placate their worries. they skirted around where blye and meachum where and she didn't have it in her to pry or tell them that she didn't need to be handled with kid gloves.

her ex-husband had come by just after visiting hours. in hand, a duffel with her clothes, toiletry bag, and sneakers. he didn't say anything, didn't ask anything, he simply sat with her, and that was all it took. she was crying into his chest. clinging to him like she'd clung to mark when her brain had finally registered that the person who was crouched by her side had been someone safe. after that, julio stayed by her side like some kind of guard dog ---as of the officer outside her room wasn't enough--- who brought her food and helped her in and out of bed.

now, she flips through the channels on the muted tv. "estoy harta de estar aqui..." she declares as she hears the foot steps stop at her room.

would you like company? the voice says.

the voice doesn't belong to julio. or jose for that matter. standing by the door of her room is mark. mark who hadn't shown his face since she'd lost consciousness on the stretcher as they wheeled her into the ambulance. mark, who found her hiding behind the biggest tree she saw, slumped on the ground, holding her bleeding side like a wounded animal trying to escape it's predator. mark, who'd said she'd thrown what they'd had out the window by dating julio. she feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. the urge to cry chokes out the rest of the air from her lungs but, somehow, amber manages to tear her gaze from him and nod.

"i'm supposed to be discharged soon." (the nurse who'd helped her shower had also helped her into her slightly too big selena quintanilla shirt and a pair of sweats. amber had brushed her damp hair and pulled it into a low ponytail.)

turning the tv off, she sets the remote to the side. out of the corner of her eye, she watches him cross the room and take a seat in the chair next to her bed. a quick text is sent to jose and another to evan before she drops her phone back onto her lap.

with the task force newly formed, dax supposed it was at least a little nice to see a familiar face amongst the team blythe put together. it had been a while since he had seen mark - work for the fbi taking him here and there so much that taking time to see an old friend just rarely seemed possible. faith would be glad to know that mark was alive and seemingly well.

"i don't think it would go against any task force secrets to invite you to dinner," there was an open invite to mark, as there was to many of the moreaus' friends, "faith would be mad if she found out i saw you and didn't invite you to ours' for a meal."

Mark Meachum I miss you😟😟

do not repost without credits

❧ Summary: You wake up in the hospital and can't help yourself.

❧ Pairing: Mark Meachum x Reader

❧ Wordcount: 316

Main Masterlist | Mark Meachum Masterlist

Your eyes slowly fluttered open to the stark white walls of a hospital room. You lay in bed, tethered to an IV drip and a heart monitor, the steady beeping grounding you in reality.

There was a heavy warmth wrapped around your left hand.

When you turned your head, you spotted a brunette man slumped forward in the chair beside the bed, his hand tightly clasped around yours. His long hair had fallen over his face, obscuring his features.

A faint pins-and-needles sensation crept into your fingers. You shifted them slightly, the movement enough to stir him.

He jolted upright, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The moment his gaze landed on you, his shoulders sagged in relief, a soft smile breaking across his face.

“Hey,” he whispered. “How are you feeling?”

“Uh… my head and my shoulder hurt,” you admitted with a wince.

He nodded. “You took a bullet. And then you fell down the stairs.”

You blinked. “I fell down the stairs? How long was I out?”

“Thirty-six hours. The concussion hit you pretty hard.”

You hummed, processing that. “Last question,” you said casually. “Who are you?”

The colour drained from his face. “What?” His voice wavered, confusion and fear bleeding through. “Please tell me you’re joking.” A beat passed, then you grinned. He let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus. That’s not funny.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn't help it. You just looked so sad.” you laughed softly, givng him a fake pout. “Mike, right?”

“Mark,” he deadpanned.

“Right. Sorry. Mark Miller.”

“Meachum.”

“Right—Mark Meachum,” you said, smiling up at him. “My…?”

“Boyfriend.”

Your face lit up. "Damn right, you are.”

“You’re impossible.”

You smiled at him, watching his tough exterior melt instantly. “You love it.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Unfortunately.” Then his expression sobered. “But seriously—”

“I’m okay, Mark,” you interrupted gently, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “I promise. I’m okay.”

He squeezed your hand a little tighter, exhaling like he’d been holding his breath for days.

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